hind
the altar leading to another room, concealed herself behind the dividing
curtains. In a few moments Zal and Rustum came in bearing between them a
gilded litter curtained with crimson silk. Setting this upon the ground,
they drew the curtains and bade Perpetua come forth. As Perpetua emerged
from the litter the brightness of the light after her long journey
through the night dazzled her, and for a moment she put her hands to her
eyes to shield them from the unexpected light. In that moment Zal and
Rustum had lifted up the litter and disappeared through the hangings.

When Perpetua removed her hands she found herself alone in the most
wonderful room she had ever seen or dreamed of. She looked with
astonishment at the gorgeous stuffs and furs, the gold and color, the
glow of fire and gleam of jewels; she breathed in amazement the subtly
perfumed air which seemed at first to make her feel giddy, her who could
stand upon the brink of the grimmest precipice in Sicily and look down
untroubled to its distant floor. Her senses were confused by the lights,
the odors, by the long, strange journey through the night, closely mewed
in a litter borne by black giants, who offered her no harm but answered
her no word. Anxiety for her father had denied anxiety for herself and
still denied her.

"What is this place?" she cried aloud to emptiness. "Is there no one
here?"

Instantly the curtains in front of her divided, revealing Lycabetta in
the pride of her whiteness, almost unclothed in her transparent drapery.

"I am here," she said, and, descending, advanced a little way towards
the girl.

Perpetua stared at the woman who had come upon her so noiselessly, her
white body shining through her thin, glittering robes.

"Where is my father?" she asked.

Lycabetta laughed a little, cruel laugh.

"This is a strange place to come and cry for a father," she answered,
reading with amusement the wonder in the girl's eyes.

Perpetua caught her breath in sudden suspicion.

"Is not my father here?" she said. "They told me he was sick and had
called for me."

Lycabetta shrugged her beautiful shoulders and her gleaming raiment
rippled in little waves of changing color.

"Sick or well, living or dead, you will find no father here, nor mother
neither; but I will be your sister, if you please, sweet simplicity."

She smiled alluringly.

Perpetua looked at her with brave, quiet eyes of dislike.

"Who are you?" she asked, holding her